


Burns like heroine

by postmodernsleaze



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Brief mention of canon suicide, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation, Mild Spoilers, They’re fucked when it comes to each other and don’t even know it yet, filthy fucking mouths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 15:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29297919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postmodernsleaze/pseuds/postmodernsleaze
Summary: “First off, you don’t get a say in what I should or shouldn’t do. Stillmymeat suit, remember? Second, I need to unwind. Like, bad. Real bad. So either you fucking guide me through this or I’m gonna wing it.”Johnny believes every word she says.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & V, Johnny Silverhand/Female V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	Burns like heroine

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I haven’t written fic in over six years, and it’s my first time dipping my toes into a fandom that’s not _incredibly_ niche. All this was ever supposed to be was a _very_ straight forward “V gets high, horny and highkey pushy” kind of PWP. Started in the gutter, now we here. Chances of me adding more chapters to this bad boy? Over 75 percent. Special thanks to @shenanigan_manifesto & dearest Bubs for BETA reading this bad boy. You were both so much help. ~~And also the kick in the arse I needed~~. Enjoy! Feedback is always welcome!

_She’s in my veins again  
But she knows I’ll bleed her out  
Before I wake  
Exhale her oxygen  
She burns like heroin_

Evelyn flatlines on them, and V takes it a whole lot harder than Johnny thought she would. The way she lives her life, she stares Death in the face on an almost daily basis. Hell, she’s been it’s fucking harbinger to more people than he could probably _count_. It’s easy to think that she’d almost be… _numb_... to it by now. To all the blood and the gore, and the violent endings.

_Fuck, was he wrong._

She drives like a madman, fingers clutching the wheel like she’s about to tear the whole damn thing off any minute. Her jaw is locked so tightly he can feel the sensation of grinding teeth in his own mouth. She’s going to fuck up all her enamel, that’s for sure.

Well… going to fuck up a whole lot more than that.

“Slow down.” He grits out from the passenger seat, ‘ganic hand pressed flatly against the top of the roof in a futile attempt to steady himself. “You’re gonna hit something at this rate.”

“Don’t care.” She bites back, eyes fixed on the road. The swerve she makes is abrupt enough to throw him sideways against the window. He doesn’t feel it of course; hasn’t felt much of anything since he woke up inside her head, but it pisses him off nonetheless. He flickers violently.

“ _I_ fucking do. You total my Porsche, I’m gonna go nuclear on your skinny ass.”

Her only reply is her foot descending on the gas even harder. The car barely misses a traffic sign. As he notices tears welling up in her eyes, Johnny thinks this is it. This is how it’s going to end. Not in a blaze of glory, fucking Arasaka dry in the ass along the way, but in a half-a-century old car. And all for _what_? Because _one_ stupid girl decided to quit Night City same way half the people living here do.

“ _Jesus_ , Johnny, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” V yells out, slamming down the brakes violently enough to lurch him forward, head smashing against the front window. That shit would have really hurt, had he not been an engram in a freshly suicidal girl’s head.

She kills the engine with the same ferocity that she would kill a Tyger Claw drug pusher, and slams the door on her way out. The car’s still in the middle of the road, and Johnny wishes more than anything he could just slide over to the driver’s seat and put her in gear. To leave V and her exhausting brain behind for good.

He can’t, of course. Already he feels the pull at his heartstrings, the inexplicable gravity that grounds him to V’s body more than it had ever ground him to Earth.

He groans and closes his eyes, jaw ticking with frustration.

When he opens them again, he’s on a roof. She’s easy to spot; her back turned to him, her legs dangling over the edge.

“So what, we gonna jump now?”

V scoffs, taking a swig from a long-necked bottle of beer. He wonders where she got it, must have it stashed somewhere on the roof. A regular occurrence, he reckons.

She’s been here before, trying to escape the hustle and bustle of Night City without driving all the way out into The Badlands.

“ _I_ ’m not jumping.” She waves the bottle around some. “Still my body, my life.”

“You jump, I jump. It’s the way this works now, kid.” Johnny reminds her. He contemplates walking over, having a proper sit down… maybe convince her to light a cigarette so this jittery feeling in his non-corporeal body gets subdued for a while.

“Yeah.” She replies, and there’s venom behind the words. “Lucky me.”

The sun’s starting to go down, casting the garish skyscrapers that define the skyline of Night City in a golden glow. He can’t feel the slowly-fading warmth on his skin, of course, but pretends that he does. The view’s pretty nova, he’s got to give her that. High up enough too that the noise of heavy traffic gets reduced to a mild thrum. No gunshots to be heard, either, and how long ago has that been?

V starts shivering, tilting her head up with closed eyes. She takes in a deep breath of air before her lips open up to release an audible sigh.

There’s times he forgets just what a tiny, little thing she actually is. When she kleps a car off some voodoo boys or coldly puts a bullet between a cyberpsycho’s eyes she’s a fucking giant in his eyes; fearless, bold, and focused. 

Truth is, though, that he gives her all of five-feet-two— being _generous_ — and she’s got so little meat on her bones it’s a miracle she’s not flatlined yet just from getting thrown around by a gearhead. Probably because she’s got the sort of steel in her bones that not even the best Ripperdoc in town could install for all the Eddies in the world.

“Gee, thanks.” She says flatly.

_Oh. Right, she can hear that._

“Loud and clear, asshole.”

“Guy’s an asshole for giving you a compliment? You’ve got issues, V.”

“Yeah, and my biggest one has suddenly forgotten how to shut the fuck up for five seconds.” Another swig of beer.

“Your biggest… what? Asshole or issue?”

She snorts. “Ain’t it obvious? Asshole, _asshole_.”

“When have I ever done _that_?” He quips, finally sauntering over to her and taking a seat of his own. She’s pissed off, no doubt about that, but the beer’s helping her deal with the tension in her shoulders and she’s slowly winding down. He knows because he can feel it, too.

“She wasn’t just some stupid girl,” V suddenly speaks up. “Not to Judy. Not even to me, near the end of it. I know I’m asking for the impossible here, but you could try some fucking empathy once in a blue moon.”

Johnny sighs. “V. It’s not that I don’t get you’re feeling some type of way ‘bout this, but we’ve got bigger issues to worry about. Bigger fish to fry.”

All he gets from her is silence.

“Fuck, Samurai, just… get our asses home. Get some sleep. S’been over 48 hours since you got some shut eye, and it’s starting to wear on you.” _On us._ “Feel better in the morning, promise you that.”

“Can’t believe I’m getting health advice from Johnny-fucking-Silverhand. Like you didn’t wear your body out on the regular, back when you were on the cover of every screamsheet in the damn city.”

“Sure, but I was doing lines like I was gettin’ paid for it.” He deadpans. “Shit, I was so far up to my neck in the stuff, fucking Pablo Escobar would’ve gotten jealous.Molly, too, come to think of it. Now _that_ shit’s fucking life changing.”

Her brows knit together. “First of all, what are lines? Second, who the fuck is Pablo Escobar? Third, _molly_? You’re just making up words now as you go, aren’t you?’

He laughs. Shit, he feels like he’s thirty-two still, acts like he’s still sweet fucking sixteen sometimes, but he’s a damn fossil in her eyes. Something as obvious as coke to him, is fucking foreign to _her_. Most drugs are compressed into inhalers these days. Quick fixes, sucked straight from the bottle. Couple shots here and there, too. Shit you can slam right into your body, needles going into flesh like knives through butter. He’s learned that much already.

“Coke, V. I’m talking about coke, way before it went all Synth. Not that second generation crap every crazy motherfucker in Night City’s doing these days.” He leans back on his elbows, face aimed right at the darkening sky. “Used to be a big hit in my time. Snorted that shit right up. Would get killer nosebleeds from it from time to time and—“

“Kinda like me, dealing with you in my head.”

“Right.” He concedes. “Anyway, Pablo Escobar was a big name back in the day. Way before I even blew up. Used to push the stuff. Fucking drug Lord.”

“And the molly?” She presses.

He sighs, almost wistfully. “Molly… like, MDMA? Crystals? Now that shit’s something else entirely.”

She discards the now-empty bottle and opens another.

“What’d it do to you?”

“The coke or the molly?”

“Either or,” She shrugs, kicking her legs like she’s eight and on a swing, demanding to get pushed.

“Coke made me creative.” He thinks back about how most songs Samurai ever brought out were written when he was high as a kite. “Focused. Chatty. Come down’s fucking terrible, though. Always made me feel like a real asshole after.”

“You _are_ an asshole,” she points out.

He just pretends he doesn’t hear her. “Molly, though? Just makes you horny as fuck. Scratch that; you think you’ve been horny before? _Nah_. MDMA puts your fucking body on _vibrate_. Took fucking to a whole ‘nother level.”

“Huh.” She doesn’t look at him. Just nurses her beer like she’ll find the workings of the entire bloody universe at the bottom of it.

“I had loads of groupies back then. Wasn’t an issue.” It hadn’t been. Women and men had been throwing themselves at his feet as easily as they threw their panties on stage. He could’ve fucked five of them a night, and still leave twenty disappointed outside the club.

“You know where to get it? This _molly_?”

“V…” he starts, not sure he’s comfortable with where their conversation is going.

“Well? Do you, rockerboy, or not?”

He skips a few beats. “Yeah.” He confesses. “I mean, shit. Yeah, think so. If the dealers back then had fucking students, who in _turn_ had students who’re running the streets right now.”

“Good. Think I could do with some of the stuff. Go oldschool.”

She doesn’t meet his eyes and he swallows hard. He’s still hellbent on overwriting her shit as soon as he gets the possibility to do so, but feels a prick of guilt at the realisation of just how bad an influence he’s being on her.

“Sure.” He licks his lips. “Not tonight, though.”

“Not tonight.” She agrees, and downs her beer. 

They sit in silence for a while, long enough for her to murder another drink and smoke a cigarette or two. He’s grateful for that. Knows he doesn’t deserve it, but enjoys the shot of nicotine either way.

When they get back down from the building and onto the streets, as if by a miracle of God, the Porsche is still there, untouched.

“Look at that,” he grins, “left our Porsche untouched. Might have to start believing in some high and mighty being after all.”

“Thought you made it very clear that it’s _your_ Porsche,” she replies, as she’s getting in.

“Yeah, well…” the leather feels comforting and familiar as he settles down into his seat, “...just get us home.”

When they get back to her rathole of an apartment, she crashes into bed and sleeps for over ten hours. It’s peaceful. Fucking bliss.

***

He’d had high hopes of her dropping the subject. Between all the dangerous gigs she’s running and his engram literally frying her brain, he’d thought she would forget about it entirely.

_Fuck, was he wrong. Again._

It’s how he finds himself… herself? _Themselves?_ on Jig-Jig street, flicking Eddies at a fat, shady character who thrusts a small, plastic bag full of pills in V’s hand for her trouble. They’re pastel coloured, printed with smiley faces and other cute shit.

“You don’t even know what those candy beans are packing ” he offers, as she calls Jackie’s bike. “Shit, could be laced with any number of other uppers.”

“Yeah, maybe I don’t. You would, though, right? Expert you are?” The machine rolls over to them, and she runs her hands over it like she’s hugging her dead choom instead. Uncharacteristically tender for V.

“Nope. Could’ve been cooked up in a bathtub in Tijuana for all I know,” he counters. She’s getting on the saddle, adjusting her helmet. Fuck, he doesn’t know if there’s anything he dislikes _more_ in his second fucking shot at life than riding bitch.

“Could just delta the fuck back into my head, you know.” She tries to get into the position she likes most, wiggling her ass on the leather and tilting her hips forward.

“Could, yeah,” he concedes. He doesn’t, though. Not ever. Likes to pretend he can still feel the wind run through his hair as they drive. Likes to pretend he’s not just a little fucked up about how big all of him looks in contrast to her body, whenever he braces himself against her back.

“Anyway, so far’s the MDMA’s concerned? I’ll take my chances.” She always does, he knows. Once they get to riding they’re making good time, his arms wrapped around her slender waist — _not fucking going there, not again_ — his mind mulling over what’s going to happen as soon as they get back home.

Nibbles greets them with small meows, purring all the way while V filled his feeding bowl. It’s late, but not late enough that the city’s not buzzing around them still. Shit… the city’s always buzzing. Night City doesn’t let anyone catch a break, not ever. The neighbours are fucking loud enough to resseruct Jesus H. Christ himself and outside the door there’s a drug deal going on, clear as a whistle.

“You need to get outta this dump,” he comments, as he settles on the edge of her — _their? _— bed.__

__She shoots him half a smile and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I do. Got some of them rockerboy Eddies ready and available for me?”_ _

__He doesn’t, not anymore. Wishes he had._ _

__His silence is enough. “Thought so,” she adds. “So you’ll just have to get used to it, I guess.”_ _

__“Yeah. ‘fraid so.” He’s not sure his reply fully registers. V starts pulling off her clothes as she moves into the bathroom._ _

__She’s never been shy about her body, never thinking long and hard enough about the fact there’s a second pair of eyes watching nowadays. Why should she? She risks her life nearly every day; the one place she is safe is where she shouldn’t feel limited or restricted. Johnny’d known a lot of women in his day, but none who’d treated their body, their _nakedness_ , as casually as she does. Her body is a weapon, first and foremost. She doesn’t busy herself with thoughts about which angle her ass would look most preem at._ _

__When she reappears she’s wearing a loose, comfortable shirt and boxer shorts wide and unshapely enough that _he_ wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing them back when he was still fucking alive in the first place._ _

__“Alright.” She sits down on the couch, and flashes him the baggie of drugs. “How do I do this?”_ _

__“Don’t think you should do it at all.” He might’ve gotten a laugh outta the _idea_ of her getting all drugged up. Turns out shit’s not so funny now that she’s actually about to pull through. Fuck, what if it goes wrong and she fucks herself up something good? She zeroes, he zeroes. Rules of the game._ _

__“First off, you don’t get a say in what I should or shouldn’t do. Still _my_ meat suit, remember? Second, I need to unwind. Like, bad. Real bad. So either you fucking guide me through this or I’m gonna wing it.”_ _

__Johnny believes every word she says. He’s seen this particular look on her face before. Same exact look she gave him when he told her she couldn’t take on those maelstroms all by her lonesome. Same look she threw him when he told her no way was she gonna finish an entire XXL pizza by herself._ _

____Just watch me, motherfucker; I’m gonna pull through.Even throw in a big ol’ smile and a middle finger after.__ _ _

__“Fine,” he spits, flickering as he gets off of the bed and joins her. “You go halfsies on that shit, okay? Take a pill and split it in two.”_ _

__She does as she’s told. Meticulous in this as she was in everything else._ _

__“So, now what? I just pop it?_ _

__“ You just pop it. Easy as all that,” he shrugs, eyeing the pills in front of her. He wonders what it’ll feel like, getting high by proxy. Would they be riding the same wave? Shit, it’s been so long he hardly even remembers what it felt like._ _

__“Hey, V?”_ _

__“Yeah?”_ _

__“No blockers, okay? Don’t know what this shit’s gonna do to you. Wanna be here for the whole ride.”_ _

__Is it something akin to softness on her face, or is he just imagining things? Probably the latter._ _

__“No blockers,” she promises, and pops half the pill like a champ._ _

____

***

At first, it’s not so bad. She lets out a series of giggles that would have never left her lips otherwise, and runs to her computer. She’s going on and on about how she fucking sees everything _so_ clearly now, and starts hacking for a while, giddy with how easy her fingers hit the keys.

He ends up feeling a watered-down version of what she’s experiencing. His own high’s not even _close_ to what he hoped it’d be, but just good enough to find her little antics amusing. Better like this, anyway… him being halfway sober. Can keep her from doing stupid shit.

 _Yeah, right._ Like he could ever keep her from doing anything. She’s on her feet before he knows it, making a beeline for the couch. It’s where she left the pills.

“No _fucking_ way, V! Don’t you—“ she slams the other half of the pill down before he can even finish his sentence. He wonders whether the sound she lets out as she throws her head back is his groan of sheer frustration or hers of relief.

She’s no Saint, not by a long shot. He’s been flicking through her memories at times he got bored enough to zone out to his own little mind palace, and what he’d found there hadn’t disappointed. V’s had a hard enough life, growing up on the streets. She’s gotten into her fair share of stupid shit, fucked around with enough gangers she’s borderline deserving of a reputation. 

Drugs are a different kind of animal though. Something she could never afford before, whether it was because of her lifestyle or being short on Eddies. Shit, she can’t afford them _now_.

_She’s a fucking virgin when it comes to this._

“Oh.” Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts, and he feels it in his guts the moment it starts to hit her. Shit, there they fucking go. Already, she’s starting to break a sweat. He knows what’s coming. Wishes he could brace himself for it.

“ _Oh_ ,” she exclaims again, cracking her neck by rolling it all the way back, as she pushes herself up from the couch.

“V?”

She’s smiling. Has he ever seen her truly smile before? Her eyes are closed and she’s trying to sway her hips to the obnoxious Body Heat radio station running on her computer desk.

“This is fucking Nova, Johnny. Thanks.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that, just watching her as she dances to a tune only she can hear, because she’s sure as fuck off beat with the song. How is it she makes that shit look good anyway? V’s undulatIng her body, slipping a hand under the hem of her shirt and caressing her stomach. High enough that she can’t come down. Hot enough that he feels his own proverbial blood race through his veins.

“Shit, really feels like I need something in my mouth. Wanna chew on something.”

_Yeah, a dick most likely._

“Calm the fuck down.”

“Why?” She shoots back, eyes opening to focus on him. “Haven’t felt this alive in _months_. Can’t remember the last time I felt so relaxed. It’s like my body’s on _vibrate_.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. Only curses himself for putting this whole gonk-brained idea in her head in the first place.

The music suddenly changes. 

It’s not Samurai, but it’s close. There are guitars —bass and otherwise— screaming, and a sultry voice crooning right into the mic. It sings of casual sex; of dirty knees in even dirtier alleys and a fat cock between someone’s lips.

Johnny will look back on this moment later and blame the random change for the avalanche of shit it brings on.

She fixes her eyes on him, and he knows right then and there that this can only go one way, and it’s South.

“V, don’t,” he warns. He’s returned to the bed, sitting on the edge of it because he _is_ on edge, elbows on his knees.

She doesn’t dignify him with an answer, merely rolls her hips and curls a finger at him in the air. It’s the corniest, most overused gesture in the book, and it _instantly_ makes his dick twitch in his pants. _Ah, fuck._

Another burst of laughter and then, easy as that, she’s pulling her shirt over her head. She doesn’t wear bras, not ever. Tits too small to even bother and he’s sure he’s heard her silently bitch at least _once_ about how damn constricting the things are. He’s instantly faced with her subtle curves because of it. Eyes locked on nipples he’d known before were pierced, but had never given much thought until now. Out of hatred. Out of disinterest. _Not_ out of some sheer semblance of shame or respect. Not at all outta that.

“Fuck,” he lets out, as she flicks them idly, cupping what little she _does_ have going on up there in her hands. She’s not his type, not by a long shot; body not curvy enough to catch his attention. Back when he’d been alive, he’d liked big tits and an ample ass. No time for girls who had more defined muscle on them than curves. Girls who were slight and short enough not to put up a bit of a fight when it came down to it. V’s got a pretty fucking face, he’ll give her that, but that’s about as far as that shit goes.

Must be _her_ fault then, him suddenly being hard as steel in his leather trousers. Her unadulterated arousal setting his own off.

She’s losing the boxers, and Johnny’s grateful that he doesn’t actually need to breathe anymore. You know, lest he forget.

Her pussy’s cleanly shaven, a heart shape adorning the spot right above it, and he would laugh out loud if he had the clearness of mind to do so. It’s so uncharacteristic for a top notch-merc in Night City that it was almost cute.

She twirls around, naked, putting on a little show for him as the song reaches its climax. She’s throwing him looks that could make a dead man come.

_Shit. Could he?_

“V…” he starts, again.

“Shut up,” she replies, eyes burning into his own as she approaches the bed. She straddles him, and although he does everything in his power to accommodate her, it’s no use: he flickers. She goes straight through him. Life —undead or otherwise— has never been this fucking unfair.

“Guess that’s that, then,” she says, way too matter-of-fact like.

He groans, frustrated, and shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” she promises, as she settles down on the bed. “Not like I wanted to fuck you, anyway. Not really. ‘s just, you know…” she gestures like he’s supposed to already ‘... the molly. Good stuff.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, but there’s no humour in it. “Good stuff indeed.” He’s about to flicker the fuck off to his solitary cell in her brain, but she frowns.

“Where’re you going?”

“Gonna crawl back into the place I belong. Get some sleep.”

“Stay.” _Is that the beginning of a pout?_

“Not a fucking cuddler, V. Even _if_ I could hold you.”

“Don’t need you to fucking hold me. Need you to stay.”

“Demanding little bitch tonight, aren’t you?”

She grabs her pillow, sizes him up. She’s still high, but not out of it completely. He doesn’t know whether that’s got something to do with him cruising along in her system or not, his tolerance for this shit through the roof. Doesn’t matter. She’s not spaced out when she says it, and he’s going to remember that later.

“I’m gonna put my fingers inside my pussy. Bend ‘em real good so I can come and feel some fucking peace of mind for once. You’re already in my head all the damn time anyway. Might as well enjoy the show.”

“That’s the candy talking,” he counters, without thinking. 

“Please,” she shoots back, “you’ve seen my memories by now—“ he’s about to argue but she cuts him off “— I know you have! So for _once_ , this isn’t about you! It’s about _me_. That little relic of yours is literally overriding my entire being as we speak. You owe me one, Johnny. _Several_.”

He does. Big time.

“Who says I’m interested in seeing that shit in the first place?”

Her eyes travel down to his crotch. “Give me a fucking break. You’re hard as a rock.”

Can’t argue with that.

“Know what,” she says suddenly,” offer off the table. Not about to beg my damn brain tumor to watch me get off.”

He wants so badly to pin her to the bed right then. Put her in her place and give her a piece of what he’s really thinking.

“Promises, promises...”

He scowls down at her, settling on the mattress.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning,” he predicts. “Gonna feel ashamed. Gonna bitch at me. This sure ain’t gonna be worth the trouble it’ll cause.”

“Just lean back and scowl some more.”

He doesn’t know what it is exactly, but it sure is _something_ when she spreads her legs wide enough to fit a hand between and slips a finger inside with ease. He swallows, certain his throat’s never felt more dry. Coulda gone on a bender for three days straight and _still_ felt less thirsty after than he did in this moment.

‘Hmm’, she moans softly, almost a sigh. “Take your vest off.”

“What am I, a fucking joy toy?” He scoffs, rolling onto his side and propping his head up in his silver hand so he can study her better. “Not taking off shit.”

“Ruining the moment, dickhead,” she shoots back, but adds a second finger anyway, scissoring them. Johnny’s ghost of a hand finds its way to her abdomen unbidden, his fingertips barely brushing over her wrist.

“Never asked to be in it.” He really should be looking down at her pussy, instead of her fuck-flushed face. _V’s an easy blusher _. He’d laugh at how rich that was, but already she’s slipping a third finger in, and the sound the friction’s making is almost obscene. She hasn’t gotten off since he took up residence in her head, and she’s fucking soaked. He can hear it, he can feel it thanks to their fucking feedback loop... hell, he can _smell_ it if he really concentrates.__

__He wonders if he could taste._ _

__“Fuck yes,” she breathes, her digits curling upwards and inwards._ _

__“Yeah, bet you’d fucking like _that_ , huh?” His voice sounds like gravel. _Just fucking Nova, that_._ _

__V peeks up at him through her lashes, arches her back just about as beautifully as the most preem braindance in the city would. The violent punch of desire that hits him is _guttural_. It’s her. It’s him… _both of them.__ _

__“Sure, Johnny” she drawls, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, “‘d like that _sooo_ much”. She’s never used that voice on him before, and the sound of it kills him a little. _ _

___Shoulda figured she’d be a tease _.__ _ _

____At that, the smile wavers, her eyes clouding over with the same unadulterated _lust_ that’s fucking with his head. The speed of her movements hasn’t ceased going up for a second, and he can _feel_ her. She’s close; all that pent up frustration and stress getting chased from her body by the combined effort of just enough molly and her fingers, but it’s not enough somehow. She’s hitting a wall._ _ _ _

____A problem, that, as it means _he_ ’s hitting one too._ _ _ _

____“Should hand that shit over.” The words are out before he knows it._ _ _ _

____“Wha-?”_ _ _ _

____“The control panel.”_ _ _ _

____V’s hand stills between her legs, and her brows immediately furrow up. Definitely not an idea she’s down to consider and yeah, _okay,_ maybe he’s sorta, totally, singularly got no one but himself to blame for that._ _ _ _

____“For real? You’re gonna kill my mood _now_? I fucking hate you.” Her breathing is laboured, and there’s a hint of that fire in her eyes he secretly likes. Or not so secretly. Pretty sure she’s figured out by now he gets his kicks riling her up._ _ _ _

____Fuck it, improvisation it is. Hell, used to do it lots of times on stage, too gone to remember the chords or too angry to care. He doesn’t see how this shit would be any different. Result will be the same, either way; _satisfying_._ _ _ _

____“ _Yeah_ ,” he retorts, voice dripping with sarcasm, “you hate me so much, you’re wetter than a fucking slip-and-slide just from laying _next_ to me. Hell, didn’t even need to get naked to get the job done.”_ _ _ _

____“Dunno what the fuck that is,” she bites back stubbornly, but he feels her heart skip a beat and her pulse goes up. He chuckles, idly shrugging a shoulder and her fingers start moving again. He can’t physically pull her closer; her body won’t even register his as being actually there, but he can create the illusion._ _ _ _

____“That’s it, V. Fucking preem,” he mutters, slipping his ‘ganic arm around her and keeping it just far enough away from her body that it doesn’t phase right through. It’s fucking weird, lining up against her body, rock hard and feeling that coil of desire unwind without even _doing_ anything about it. He’s just cresting along with her, all of his pleasure is _V_ ’s._ _ _ _

____“Hair,” she huffs, mildly annoyed, hips rolling up to chase the girth and pressure of her fingers every time she drags them out. His face hovers close enough over hers that strands of his jet black hair are falling down, the tips of them framing her face._ _ _ _

____“What, you gonna tell me the shit tickles now?”_ _ _ _

____She opts to ignore him, closing her eyes as she really starts bearing down, the palm of her hand pressed tightly up against her clit, offering all the pressure she needs _and_ then some. Her fingers stay put, and she’s just chasing her orgasm now, fuck everything else. It’s a sight, sure, but it’s not enough._ _ _ _

____“Open your eyes again.” Her only response is the increased heaving of her chest, a sheen of sweat coating her bare tits, nipples pert. Her heart’s beating out a tattoo on the inside of her ribs, and still it’s _not fucking enough._._ _ _ _

____“Hey!” He demands, louder this time, “open your eyes. Look at me.”_ _ _ _

____She has the guts, the fucking _audacity_ , to actually turn her head away from him instead. Eyes still firmly closed, a lock of her longer hair sticking to the side of her neck. She’s close, so fucking close. Any moment now, she’s going to—_ _ _ _

____“Enough of that shit! You wanted me here, so gonna fucking _look_ at me!” He’s angry enough to reach for her jaw. Engram restrictions be damned, if V doesn’t wanna play nice, he’s gonna fucking _make her_._ _ _ _

____And then, it all happens at once._ _ _ _

____His fingers grip her jaw and just… _connect_. Part of her mouth gets covered by his palm, and he can actually _feel_ his index finger slotting behind her ear. He’s able to yank at her chin and force her to face him. V’s eyes fly open, and he doesn’t know if the look of shock and bewilderment in them is really hers, or his own reflected back at him._ _ _ _

____She comes. _Violently_ so, teeth biting down on the fleshy part between his thumb and his finger, and he feels _that_ too. _Finally, something to chew on_. She’s shaking with it, her cries muffled against his hand. She’s unable to control her hips from snapping up as she curls into herself, and up to him. _ _ _ _

_____Fuck_ , but his head is reeling. He feels that shit in his _toes_ , and he wonders if it counts as creaming his pants if the pants aren’t real and the dick ain’t either. _ _ _ _

____They feel each other, body _and_ mind for all of five seconds longer and then he flickers and phases through her._ _ _ _

____“ _Jesus_ ,” Johnny’s not sure if it’s V’s voice speaking or his, maybe it’s both._ _ _ _

____“Fuck.” That’s definitely V. She’s trying to get control of her breathing, working herself up on the bed with her elbows. She reaches out to push him away, hand going straight through his forehead. He goes, anyway, letting himself fall on his back._ _ _ _

____“The _fuck_ was that?” She asks, rubbing at her left eye._ _ _ _

____“You coming like a fucking high class joy toy, that’s what,” he replies, hoping his voice sounds steady enough to hide how freaked out he’s really feeling._ _ _ _

____“Not that, asshole. The _touching_. What was that about?” She runs her fingers through the part of her hair that’s long, smoothing it back._ _ _ _

____“Dunno,” because he doesn’t. He crosses his arms behind his head. “You complainin’ , though? That was like some 50 Shades of Grey shit, only done _right_.”_ _ _ _

____V throws him a look. Not exactly a dirty one, but still nowhere close to sweet. “Okay, _Millenial_. I keep telling you I don’t understand your fucking lingo.” She reaches for the pack of smokes on her nightstand. That peeks his attention._ _ _ _

____“Know where I left my ligh—“_ _ _ _

____“Jeans. Back pocket,” he goes to sit up, too. “You gonna smoke? Fuck, should indulge your exhibisionist tendencies more often.”_ _ _ _

____“Fat chance,” she taps a cigarette loose from the package and tucks it behind her ear. Same place where just moments ago, his finger had been. “Just my luck your personality construct’s got me craving cancer sticks after sex.” She gets up, hips swaying as she walks over to the bathroom. Fuck, but he loves seeing the unsteadiness in a girl’s legs after making them come, still a little weak in the knees and fuck-drunk. Always has._ _ _ _

____He thinks the sight of it might make the whole thing worth the trouble after all._ _ _ _

____“Hey, can you delta by the time I get back? Need some fucking alone time!” She calls out from the bathroom. He hears her jump back into her jeans._ _ _ _

____Johnny leans back against the bedpost and closes his eyes, waits for the sound of her door opening and closing, for the near immediate taste of cigarettes on his tongue. He exhales through his nose, pretending he can feel the smoke leave his body. One more drag, two, and he wills himself to flicker out of existence._ _ _ _

______ _ _

***

Turns out, it _was_ worth the trouble, but only fucking barely. Girl’s obsessing about it, and as a first in Johnny’s life, he’s not referring to the mindblowing orgasm he gave her the night before.

V’s sliding open all of her cubicles, banging around whatever junk she’s got in there, and pulling the odd object out. The coffee table is littered with random shit. Mugs, a knife, some medication, a paper plate or two and at least three spoons. She hasn’t said much of anything all morning. After coffee and a cigarette, she’d gone out to fetch one of them disgusting breakfast burritos and had chomped down on it in determined silence.

“Do you —and I can’t fucking believe I’m about to ask this question— wanna talk about it?” He offers from his position against the wall, watching her pace back and forth through her unit as if she’s frantic for a way out.

“No,” comes her clipped reply, as she slams a vase — _and what does she even have a vase stored away for, anyway?_ — down on the table and overlooks her haphazardly thrown together collection, hands on her hips. “Come sit.”

“Not a fucking dog, y’know.” He drags himself away from the wall and does as asked, regardless, because she’s got a splitting headache, which is giving _him_ a splitting headache, and he doesn’t want to get her worked up even more.

“Pick up that mug.” She points to the one shaped like the head of an alien, coated in a near blinding colour of neon green.

“What’s the magic word?”

“I’m gonna punch you in the throat.”

“Except that you can’t,” he supplies generously, as he gestures at the crowded, little table, “just like I can’t touch any o’that. You _know_ that already.”

“After tonight, ‘m not so sure anymore.” Her lips are pressed into a thin line.

He rolls his eyes and reaches for the cup. As could be expected, his hand goes straight through it. He wiggles his fingers and lets it go through two more times. The look he gives her is deadpan and pointed. _See?_

V’s not phased. She grabs a spoon and holds it up in front of his face. He snorts.

“If you want me to bend that for you, I’ve got some bad news, sweetheart. ‘M not fucking Uri Geller.”

She just blinks at him, slowly.

Johnny sighs and rolls his eyes. “He was this guy who could bend spoons with his— know what? Never fucking mind.”

“First of all,” she starts, still firmly holding the spoon in the air, “don’t call me sweetheart. Ever. Again. Second, I don’t want you to _bend_ it, idiot, I want you to reach out and grab it.”

He places both of his hands flat on the coffee table and leans forward, feeling himself getting pissed off and impatient all on his own; doesn’t even need V’s rapidly increasing anger to get him there. “For the last time,” he grits out through his teeth, “I fucking _can’t_.”

V lets out a cry of frustration and flicks the spoon to the side. She gets up and storms away as far from him as the limited space allows. He gets up too, noticing how she’s starting to chew on her thumb. Now, Johnny would’ve taken time to fixate on that because, well… he’s still Johnny fucking Silverhand. She doesn’t allow him a moment of appreciation, though.

She’s grabbing hold of Mr. Nibbles, petting his head before she locks eyes with him. 

“Hey, Johnny! Catch!”

Before he can even get the _what the fuck?_ that’s burning on the tip of his tongue out, the cat comes flying right at him with a wail and a hiss. He holds his hands up out of reflex, but as with everything she’s ever thrown at him, and it’s been a _lot_ , it flies right through him.

The cat elegantly lands on its four legs, knocking over the plates and vase on its quick hop back down from the table. Johnny doesn’t just hear it clattering either, because he actually looks back over his shoulder to check on Mr. Nibbles. The thing’s sorta starting to grow on him lately.

“The fuck?!” He shouts, as he whips his head back around, “did you just throw the fucking cat at me?!”

“He’s fine,” V waves him off. “Wasn’t a wide throw, cats always land on their legs, got nine lives yada yada yada.”

“You threw the fucking cat at me!” He’s still shouting,incredulous.

She completely ignores him. “Hmm,” she muses, “so ‘s not any different when it’s something you care about.”

“I don’t care about—!” he stops, eyes widening. “Wait. This what this fucking is?! You think I was able to touch you because I _care_ about you?” He whistles through his teeth. “Fuck, glad to see at least _some_ things’ll never change. You give a girl some dick, she turns into a gonk.”

“You didn’t give me shit!” She snaps, throwing an ashtray at him. Would’ve hit him straight in the face, too, but instead it smashes against the wall and shatters into a million pieces.

“You gettin’ pretty worked up about _shit all_ then, seems like. Fuck!” 

“Just stop your pretending and fucking grab hold of something already! Anything!” She’s closing in on him, and fuck, she’s so tiny he nearly needs to crouch a little in order to look at her face.

“You think I wouldn’t be throwing shit by now if I could, huh?! Do ya?!” He goes to grab at her shoulders, wanting to shake her until she gets her head screwed back on straight, but his touch doesn’t land.

She juts her chin up at him and points a finger in his face. “Listen, dickhead. Wakako’s been blowing up my holo all night. I’ve got shit to do, and you’re gonna go ahead and tag along, like the fucking block of cement ‘round my ankles that you are.”

She passes through him, reaching for her jacket and the keys to the Porsche. She throws him a determined, furious look over her shoulder.

“Then after that, you and me? We got ourselves a date at the ripperdocs. I’m calling Vic on your ass.” She opens the door, sets a foot outside.

Johnny tries to bite his tongue, he really does, but her mood’s setting him off and it’s like he’s directly connected to a live wire. He can’t help himself. Of course he can’t.

“You already put out!” He calls after her, “what fucking use is a date?”

The frustrated scream V lets out as she throws her hands over her head and all but stomps through the hallway? Yeah, he feels that shit go down his spine like silk.

**Author's Note:**

> The title refers to the song “Heroin” by Badflower, but even Johnny wouldn’t be stupid enough to touch that shit.


End file.
